


La Fille Aux Cheveux de Lin

by parttimefemmefatale (writingramblr)



Series: Valentine's Day collection 2/14/14 [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Actual Episode idea, Alternate Universe - Canon, Doctor Who AU, F/M, Fluffy, Historical Accuracy, Historical Figure - Freeform, Post Father's Day, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romantic Interlude, Sweet, before the Empty Child, disaster free, dw original, early vday present, my episode idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/parttimefemmefatale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Or "The Girl with the Flaxen Hair")</p><p>Inspired by the idea that perhaps the name of one of Debussy's Preludes originated from a certain blonde who, along with the Doctor, ran into Mr. Debussy himself in Paris, late 1889.</p><p>Looking for a way to help Rose feel better after the events of "Father's Day" the Doctor tries Paris. Originally aiming for New Year's Eve, the TARDIS interferes, just a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I did do as much research as i could, but the truth is, i couldn't find exactly when Debussy penned the named song. But let's pretend it sort of sat on a back burner until the melody came to him.
> 
> Suggested listening...  
> well the title song, and perhaps Dark Horse by Katy Perry.  
> Also, this is sort of a character study, hence lots of 'internal thoughts' despite the third person POV.

Rose paced around her room inside the TARDIS, unable to sleep after the events of the previous day. She’d had the worst and best day of her life. She’d managed to save her father’s life, spend almost an entire day with him, and even see her parents united. Unfortunately the other side of things had meant ripping a whole in time, or at least wounding it, and her father had had to die _again_ to right everything. She’d nearly lost the Doctor too.

When that huge creature had swooped down on him, and he’d vanished from sight, along with the creature, a small blessing, she’d felt as if she’d been stabbed.

He’d just forgiven her, and she’d then proceeded to do yet another thing he told her not to.

Why was she so daft?

What was it that made her brain turn to mush? Why didn’t she ever listen?

She’d wanted to. She’d honestly wanted to.

Having him back, was the next greatest feeling in the world.

Even though she’d had to lose her father, she’d been able to provide some comfort, staying with him as he died.

Not a cheerful way to end the day.

But then she’d returned to the TARDIS with the Doctor, and he’d told her,

“Go get some rest. You need it.”

Not “Get ready to go home. Get your things.” Not, “I’m so disappointed in you. I don’t want you around anymore.”

She’d thought for certain he’d not want to be in her presence a second more, but somehow, miraculously, he wasn’t telling her anything like that.

The TARDIS hummed beneath her feet, and all around her in a somewhat reassuring tone. Rose still couldn’t understand her luck. Sometimes it seemed horrible, and other times it was in a word, fantastic.

***

The Doctor paced around inside the console room, feeling strange. He was concerned for Rose, and wanted to do something, anything to make her feel better. She’d just gone through the most tragic thing, once only heard in a story, yesterday experienced firsthand.

He of all people knew how hard that could be.

Watching someone you loved die.

He was afraid.

Afraid to do the wrong thing.

Possibly again.

He’d granted her wish.

He’d warned her, sure enough.

But now?

How could he make that up to her?

She’d made her own mistakes, and he’d erred in judgment more than once. But perhaps he could blame his momentary lapses on her. The way she’d looked at him. Brown eyes wide, and more than a hint of tears. She’d begged him without a word. Like a fool in…something, he’d obeyed.

That sort of thing could be dangerous. But now she knew better. She’d seen the consequences to trying to change fixed points in time.

In _her_ time.

“Paris!”

He shouted in an excited tone, before glancing around, and remembering he was alone. He’d sent her to her room. Not as punishment. But perhaps a little.

He’d wanted time alone to think to himself. Now he was ready for her to come back.

He was eager to impress his companion.

His yellow and pink human.

Rose.

She was so much more than that. An unimpressive name for a complicated girl.

The TARDIS nudged him in his mind, and he could feel her concern. He could sense Rose’s agitated state. He could almost feel her pacing, her steps mirroring his, without even trying.

He stopped. Stood still, and reached out for the lever closest to him.

“Paris. France. 1900? New Year ’s Eve maybe? Plenty of fireworks and champagne. That’ll work right?”

He asked the TARDIS, as if she could give him advice. She kept silent.

He really ought to be asking Rose.

This was for her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My loving homage to the dress scene in "The Unquiet Dead"

Rose could hardly believe it. Paris France, on the night before the new century dawned. She could already hear the various partiers before she’d even stepped outside.

Her mind’s eye pictured the Eiffel tower, lit up with glorious splendor, especially bright for the occasion.

“D’ya think we’ll run across anyone famous?” She asked the Doctor, inserting extra energy into her smile, as she watched him, darting around the console as if his feet were on fire.

He’d knocked on her door, checking to see how she was resting up, and she’d yanked it open so hard she had been afraid it would slip off its hinges.

Her morose expression had faded when she’d seen his brilliant smile, and heard the phrase, “Paris France, Earth.”

The earth clarification had been necessary in the Doctor’s mind, as there was more than one planet out there named for a famous earth city.

“I’m not sure. We didn’t plan for Dickens, but there he was!”

The Doctor grinned at her, across the console, and she suddenly didn’t feel the need to force her enthusiasm. His excitement was contagious.

The TARDIS landed, and she nearly ran past him and out the door, before she realized she’d need a change of clothing, much like when they’d visited the Cardiff of Dickens’ time.

“Don’t want to start a riot of course.” Rose echoed his sentiment, and the Doctor nodded,

“Though France is a different world, I’m not sure they’re quite ready for that.” He gestured vaguely at her outfit, and she fought back a blush.

It was a tame get up by her standards, but it was so odd when she considered the fact he’d just had to check her out, for her own good.

When she returned from the wardrobe, he’d not done a thing different, except perhaps shake out his leather jacket.

He looked the same as always, and before he caught sight of her, his face was perfectly serene. Like the calm before the storm.

***

Soft footsteps indicated Rose’s return to the console room, and this time when the Doctor looked up from his wool gathering, he was quite easily gobsmacked. Bewildered. Dumbstruck. All these and more flew through his mind, and as his mind was processing the definitions, his eyes were drinking in the sight of Rose.

Somehow the TARDIS had managed to conjure up a perfectly timely French ball gown.* It was made of shimmering light gold fabric, with dark copper, pearl and gold trimming accents, and a corset look that made Rose’s breath catch. Or perhaps that was from the intensity of the Doctor’s stare.

The neckline was sheer gold fabric, and the sleeves were barely covering her shoulders, made of the dark copper edging and the same gold fabric.

Rose hadn’t bothered asking for help with her hairstyle, and had simply woven it into a braid that draped over her right shoulder.

She stood completely still, and he noticed he could see the rise and fall of her breasts under the slightly see-through material over her chest and he immediately averted his gaze to her face. Her cheeks were flushed, whether from the corset or simply the weight of the heavy dress, he didn’t know.

All he did know was that she looked breathtaking.

“Rose, ah, you look nice.”

The plainest of compliments, the most in-elegant of words, summed her up in a short phrase.

Rose couldn’t say she wasn’t the slightest bit disappointed.

Her feet shifted beneath the skirt and her toes peeked out, clad in black shiny flats. Good for running, she’d thought to herself. In case that was called for.

“Thanks.”

She clutched her wrap closer, before moving for the door. She’d grabbed the first one she saw, a simple shawl made of the same gold fabric as the body of the dress, with more pearl beading on the edges.

“Here, wait. Let me help you.”

The Doctor stepped behind her, and plucked the shawl from her tight grasp. She’d loosened it as soon as she felt him approach, and as he gently tucked it over and around her shoulders, she shivered. Not from the cold. She wasn’t cold. Not with his hands so near to touching her bare skin.

She’d felt his cool breath on the back of her neck, and it made the littlest hairs below her braid stand up straight.

The Doctor inhaled deeply, as if to strengthen himself, but truthfully he just wanted to grasp a stronger scent of Rose’s perfume.

It was something like banana’s and warm honey.

“Shall we?”

He held out his arm to her, startling her from her own wool gathering. She’d been like that only a few seconds, but as soon as her gaze focused on him, she smiled, nodding,

“Yes. Paris, here we come!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Image link for dress, for the curious. I wish I could have simply thought it up. http://www.pinterest.com/pin/44895327505570270/


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did they have newsstands back then? I did check and it said they originated in 1866 or so...so....yeah.

The instant the Doctor stepped outside the TARDIS, he knew something was off. It wasn’t the smell of the snow, or the cold chill of the wind. There were no unusual sounds, no loud cheering, or even a sight of fireworks.

He ran over to the nearest newsstand, with Rose still clinging to his arm, and checked the date.

“1889?”

Rose interrupted his line of thought, cutting precisely to the point.

They were off by just shy of a decade.

“Whoops.”

Rose glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, usually that wasn’t a word she liked. It had been uttered before, when the “Not 12 hours, but 12 months” ‘miscalculation’ had occurred.

“That’s not bad is it?”

The Doctor heard the hesitation in her voice, and rushed to assuage her fears.

“No not at all. It just means the party we came here for is a long way off. However, if I’m not mistaken, and I never am, that building up ahead of us is a rather famous landmark. Where Debussy himself became inspired, and created the last few great musical compositions of his career. Rose, welcome to the Exposition Universalle!”

***

Inside the building, was a shining and beautiful ballroom, and musical strains of a waltz could be heard echoing out into the street.

It was no flashy celebratory party, but it was still an elegant affair.

The TARDIS had seemingly known this, as Rose drew no strange looks while the Doctor flashed his psychic paper to grant them entry.

In fact, she looked as if she belonged out on the dance floor, being led around by a dashing and debonair gentleman.

The Doctor was fully content to stand back and watch, nonchalant about what Rose would do. But he was lying to himself.

If any man dared to approach her, much less even glanced her way, he met their gaze with a deadly glare. The Oncoming Storm did not fancy watching Rose dance with some stranger.

After only a few minutes languishing as a wallflower, Rose took measures into her own hands. She had a bit of a clue about what the Doctor was doing.

She pulled off her wrap, set it on one of the ornately decorated chairs, and yanked the Doctor’s right hand from its tucked position in his folded arms.

“C’mon old man, show these boys how it’s done.”

The Doctor’s eyebrows rose so high they were in danger of slipping into his short bangs, but he voiced no argument. He let Rose lead him out onto the dance floor, and slowly let his hands rest where she placed them.

She might not be an expert on dancing, but she’d seen enough Jane Austen films to know how to waltz.

Twirling around on the floor, with Rose held in his arms, the Doctor couldn’t exactly find a thing to complain about.

Sure he stuck out like a sore thumb with his attire, but no one was looking at him. To his dismay, despite a maximum show of protectiveness, by dancing with her, all eyes from the opposite sex seemed to follow her around the room.

She did look radiant, under the soft lighting, and with a slight flush from exertion, she nearly made his hearts skip a beat.

When she beamed up at him, he felt the anger melt from his frame. He could only look at her, into her warm brown eyes, and wonder why in Rasslion they’d never danced before.

Eventually, after several turns about the room, Rose was beginning to feel overheated.

“Could we get something to drink yeah? Do you think they’d let me have some champagne?”

The mischievous smile Rose gave the Doctor was simply teasing, since for all she knew the drinking age was sixteen in this time period.

He almost laughed, before shrugging,

“I don’t think you need to tell them how old you are. Just ask for a glass and see how it goes.”

“What? Don’t you need something? You’ve still got your jacket on, you’ve got to be burning up.”

Rose gave him a quick once over, but he appeared to be in much better shape than she felt. He didn’t even appear to be sweating.

“I run a few degrees cooler than you humans remember? I’m perfectly content me.”

“If you insist. Now stay here. I’ll be right back. Then I want to go for a walk outside. If it’s amenable to you.”

She mock curtsied to him and he felt the same nervous fluttering in his chest as when he’d first laid eyes on her in that dress.

She was just too beautiful, too good for him. What had he gotten himself into?


	4. Chapter 4

Though it had stopped snowing outside, it was still bitterly cold. However, after the near suffocating warmth of the ballroom, the outside air almost felt like a fresh breath.

Rose clutched her half empty flute of champagne, and walked carefully on the path leading through the gardens. She trusted her flat footed shoes, but she didn’t want to slip on a patch of ice and make a fool of herself in front of the Doctor.

When he caught sight of her third shiver, he quickly took off his leather jacket and placed it around her shoulders, brushing over the skin of her forearm as he did so.

An extra shiver from his brief touch was easily passed off as a chill.

She’d forgotten to bring her shawl with her on their stroll, and she couldn’t say she regretted that decision now.

They only made it a few steps, before they heard a hauntingly beautiful melody drifting out from the ballroom into the garden. It filled the air around them, and Rose’s eyes slipped shut as she listened. It was like nothing she’d ever heard. If music could be called magical, this was the perfect example.

“Rose, look. We’ve got company.”

Again he’d said ‘we,’ and Rose couldn’t help but enjoy how the word sounded. She’d also felt how he’d gently nudged her forward, with a hand to her lower back, and she almost hummed in delight.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw a young man with a dark beard and a thick head of hair sitting on a bench alone, as caught up in the music as she had been.

“Who is he, do you know?”

Rose whispered to the Doctor, who grinned, answering,

“That’s him! That’s Claude Debussy. Right now, he’s hearing this melody, these few notes, and they’re going to change his life. Well, the last bit at least. Should we go introduce ourselves?”

Rose’s eyes widened,

“Won’t that change history or something?”

The Doctor shrugged,

“Nah. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about two party guests interacting with a third.”

Rose smiled wide, and stepped out of the Doctor’s reach, moving to stand beside Debussy.

“Hello there.”

The man’s eyes opened slowly, as if awakening from a dream, and as he spotted Rose, he mimicked her smile.

The Doctor knew he was a bit of a lothario, so he didn’t let Rose get too far from him, or too close to Debussy.

He stepped over, stealthily slipping his arm around Rose’s waist, and sticking his hand out to the composer,

“I’m the Doctor, and this is Rose. How are you enjoying the party tonight?”

The man eyed the pair, and then his gaze shifted and stuck to the Doctor briefly, before settling on Rose,

“I am having a marvelous time. I do wish I had a lovely companion as you do. It might be a superior evening.”

The Doctor toned down his Oncoming Storm glare, which had flared up the instant Debussy had passed him over to ogle Rose.

He shrugged,

“I just happened to find the right dance partner. Sometimes you get lucky.”

He saw Rose smile slightly, and when he pulled her closer, in a semi embrace, he knew she understood.

He’d said she was the best, and he’d meant it.

He couldn’t imagine having anyone else at his side. Tonight, or any night.

“I hope to find what you two have someday.”

The Doctor managed to extract himself from his thoughts long enough to hear the statement, and he could also sense the underlying longing. It was a tragedy that Debussy would never quite be satisfied with the women he would attempt to woo. Many broken hearts and damaged ones would be littered across his short lifetime.

But the music he would write almost made up for that.

The Doctor was trying to pinpoint exactly what Debussy meant, when Rose spoke up again, this time with an air of farewell in her words,

“We hope you will entertain the idea of returning to the party, before you freeze to death out here. I’ll ask the orchestra to replay that song you were listening to again, since we interrupted you from your thoughts.”

Debussy looked at her oddly, as if contemplating a work of art.

The Doctor couldn’t say he’d never done the same.

“Thank you my lady. I will do as you say. Perhaps someday, I will write you something. The girl who cared. The girl with compassion, beauty and spirit. Goodnight to you and your _friend_.”

The look Debussy gave the Doctor suggested he knew it was not merely friendship between him and Rose.

He could only pray Rose wouldn’t ask for him to deny that. Not after this night. In fact, he hoped she wouldn’t mind if they took a slight detour before leaving Paris.

To a certain tower.

***

After ensuring Debussy’s safe return to the party, something only Rose would have insisted on, the Doctor was growing more than impatient, and she seemed to sense it.

“Where are we going now?”

“You’ll see.”  
A cryptic reply to be sure.

When they came to a stop just a few yards from where the TARDIS was parked, the Doctor told Rose to look up.

There it was. Right before them, sparkling and glittering like a vertical diamond, or a long nosed bottle of bubbly, the Effiel Tower.

“Oh, it’s so beautiful.” Rose breathed, and the Doctor watched how the lights seemed to dance in her eyes, as if shining from within.

“Yes. You are.”

Cliché perhaps, long overdue definitely, but the complete truth. The Doctor couldn’t see anything around him that outshone Rose.

She tore her gaze away from the tower and met his stare, her cheeks turning pink.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just a silly ape. Wearing a nice dress.”

The Doctor shook his head; hands slipping up to gently grasp her shoulders,

“No. I mean it. Debussy was right. That daft man could see what I’ve been trying to hide for the last few weeks. Ever since I met you, I’ve been yours. I’ve risked my life for you, and I’d do it again in an instant. I’m falling for you, and I’m hoping that there’s not a black hole underneath me.”

Rose’s eyes went wide, and the light’s only grew, multiplying as tears began to form. They slipped down her cheeks, silent streaks that shined like the tower lights.

“You mean it?”

The Doctor nodded, unable to speak.

Rose felt as if she couldn’t breathe for happiness. Wait, no. That wasn’t just happiness, she really _couldn’t_ breathe.

“ _Doctor!”_ her voice came out a whisper, and her eyes rolled back into her head as she fainted into his arms.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chap! Stops just short of real smut, and only because my dw/tron story will have actual smut.. hehe  
> Because, you know what they say, too much of a good thing...

Short of taking a blade to the corset laces, the Doctor wasn’t sure how he could quickly and safely get Rose out of her dress.

The obvious, to simply begin undoing the laces wasn’t fast enough.

Besides, what if she regained consciousness and caught him undressing her?

He gritted his teeth and shook his head.

“Damn it all.”

He withdrew his sonic screwdriver and aimed it at the laces, which quickly separated as if sliced with a knife. Underneath he could see a small scrap of black lace, which he supposed was modern era Parisian lingerie. He was seconds away from cursing the TARDIS when the sharp inhalation of breath that Rose drew startled him so much he staggered backwards.

He nearly tripped over her shoes, which he’d taken the liberty of removing. Perfectly innocent!

She sat up slowly, and glanced around, evidently recognizing her surroundings, she then turned her gaze to him.

“What happened?”

The Doctor grimaced,

“I kissed you, then you slapped me, and fainted.”

Rose frowned, her eyes narrowing,

“I think you’re making that up. At least most of it. I wouldn’t slap you for kissing me. You most certainly would never kiss me in the first place. The fainting, that I believe.”

She clutched a hand to her chest, finally noticing her dress was hanging open, and the lacy black bra she’d been wearing beneath it was visible. It was much smaller than he had been imagining, not that he’d been focused on that.

Rose blushed again, just like she had before she’d lost consciousness, and the Doctor could see the pink flush went all the way down her neck and below.

“Ah, well then, I should go. Let you rest up.”

‘ _Again.’_   He didn’t add.

She spent more time sleeping than getting in life endangering situations, which was quite often.

Rose shifted on her bed, and the dress slipped further off her shoulders, while the Doctor avoided looking at her, it was far too late. He’d seen enough creamy skin and hints of her curves to keep him occupied in his dreams, or waking hours away from her.

 “Wait. You’re just going to go swanning off again? Why do you always have to run away?”

The Doctor felt a swell of heat, and he didn’t know if he was getting a fever (impossible) or if the TARDIS was raising the internal temperature. Rose didn’t seem to be affected, so he guessed the former.

“Yes I am. I’ve got things to do. I’m not running away. I’m piloting this ship!”

Rose cocked a thin black brow at him, and shook her head,

“I think she could drift perfectly fine without you for a little bit.”

The Doctor swallowed,

“What do you mean?”

“I mean if you don’t come here I’m going to have to get up and come get you.”

The Doctor’s eyes roamed over her again, and she kept her gaze steady, molten brown meeting icy blue.

“I’ll not be ordered about by a simple human.”

Rose shrugged,

“Of course not.”

His feet moved him, and suddenly he was standing right in front of her, towering over her lounging form. A smile graced her lips, before she stretched up, kneeling on the bed to match his height, and he felt her arms around his neck, pulling him close, before he noticed her dress had fallen off her shoulders completely.

“See anything you like?”

The Doctor could only watch her lips as they formed the words to the question he had several smart replies to.

“Yes.”

“Fantastic.”

He was prepared to scold her for stealing his catch phrase when he felt her press closer, and her lips met his in a soft but insistent kiss.

His arms were around her bare back, bringing her flush to him, and he could feel her heat right through his jumper. He’d barely noticed that she’d kept his jacket on all the way until she fainted in his arms.

This kiss was something he was rather glad hadn’t been in view of anyone else. For it spoke of further things to come, things to happen behind closed doors, and with much less clothing.

His fingers were already fumbling around to undo her bra when she pulled back, lips slightly swollen from their kiss,

“I think you’re a bit overdressed Doctor.”

He grinned at her,

“Why, I believe you’re right, Rose Tyler.”

She loved the way he said her name.

It sounded like the whisper of a lover.

Her wandering hands moved from clutching the back of his neck and his shoulder to slip down and trace the bit of skin where his jumper met his jeans, and she gave him her cheeky grin, with her tongue trapped between her teeth,

“Let me help with that."

***

**END**


End file.
